


Small Talk

by Jamalyn



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamalyn/pseuds/Jamalyn
Summary: Ken loves Daisuke. Daisuke loves Ken. But neither would dare to admit it outright to the other. But now that they've found themselves pushed together once again, this time as adults and not the children they once were, maybe they can each work that out, in their own time. Or maybe each man's laundry list of pecadilloes will, once again, get in their way. Daiken/Kensuke.





	1. Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... so I'm torn. This may be a stand lone fic. But it feels like it really wants to expand into a multi-chaptered fic. I just don't want to make promises I can't keep. And so much depends on the plot bunnies and they're rare creatures in my life. So. No promises. But I hope to continue this on. Some day.
> 
> Disclaimer: My story. Not my original characters.

* * *

Ken despised small talk.

“So? What do you think? It’s nice right?” Daisuke cajoled.

He was shit at small talk.

“You just kind of sink right in,” Daisuke continued, “It’s like you’re being hugged from behind. Right? I mean, you’re the cuddle type. Aren’t you?”

Small talk was, by its very nature, supposed to be easy. But then, that's not how _Ken’s_ life worked, was it.

No. Of course not.

Were Ken the sort to believe in karma (he wasn't), he might have seen this as proof of the shitty person he really was, deep inside. After all, why else would something as simple as small talk always manage to land him these sorts of situations?

How else could Ken go to what was _supposed_ to be a uncomplicated Christmas party, but instead, somehow find himself trapped, lying fully clothed, in the bed of the man he had been secretly harboring a crush on for more than 10 years, all while a room full of people wearing party hats and eating Christmas cake stared down at his awkward form?

 “I mean it’s shit for sex but, well, you know…” Daisuke trailed off, but not before embarrassing Ken further by shooting a knowing look and a shrug at Ken’s had-been conversation partner, Miyako and adding, “I’m sure Ichijouji Ken, super-genius, could figure something out.”

“Daisuke…”Ken pleaded, doing his best to sit up only to have Daisuke push him back down on the bed again.

“No, no, no, really try it,” Daisuke insisted, “These mattresses are like super space-age smart technology. They’re amazing! They just completely conform to your body.”

Ken found himself wishing the mattress was super space-age smart enough to recognize when he wanted to die so it could just suffocate him already. 

“Best damn purchase I ever made,” Daisuke assured the gawking room. Thankfully, Takeru decided to take that as his cue to intervene.

“Okay Daisuke,” Takeru promised, “I think he gets it. Let him up already.” Ken tried to climb out of bed before Daisuke could say otherwise but the damn thing kept sucking him right back down. Eventually he gave up what little remained of his tattered pride and just rolled off the side, landing on his knees on the floor with a thud.

Fucking small talk.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be this _hard_. After all, Ken had known these people since they were all kids. They had once saved the world together. And while they had started growing apart as the number of years since their time in the Digital World had increased and they had begun going their own, separate ways in life, they still considered each other friends and made effort to get together once a year at Christmas.

Lately though, Ken had found even that much difficult.

After all, it had been the Digital World that had bound them together. And while 12-year old Ken might have believed that the friendships they had forged in battle were strong enough to last forever, reality had shown older-Ken that he and his fellow digidestined had little in actual substance in common. They had even less in common now, 10 plus years later.

Or, at least, Ken felt that way. The other digidestined seemed to fall back in with each other easily, with no regard for the time passed, friendships as strong as ever.  But Ken couldn’t do that. Every year, every Christmas party, Ken found the ice a little thicker, a little harder to crack.  More and more he felt like they were only inviting him out of obligation to the friend they wanted to believe he once had been.

Even then, they were probably being kind. After all, it’s not like he had even been in the running for friend-of-the-year back then, either.

They didn’t want him. They certainly did not need him. Their time together would be more enjoyable if he wasn’t there, hanging out around the edges of the party, unable to even make simple chitchat comfortably.

“Dude,” Daisuke’s nose was inches from Ken’s, the younger man crouched down next to him on the floor to apologize, “I should have warned you about that.” Daisuke stood up, offering Ken a hand which Ken waved off in useless attempt to salvage one small shred of his dignity, before standing on his own.

“You’ve got to remember,” Daisuke lectured the attentive room, a single finger held aloft, “Sitting up on a memory foam mattress requires serious core strength.”

“Seriously,” Daisuke insisted when his proclamation received little beyond disinterested murmurs, “It’s true!”

“Just check out these abs,” he continued lifting his shirt, oblivious to the chorus of groans.

“Rock hard,” Daisuke insisted, slapping his tummy.

“Put your shirt down already,” Ken was surprised to hear his own sarcasm-laced voice. Leave it to Daisuke to do something so outrageous that even Ken was moved to comment, “Trust me when I say that no one here wants to see that.”

“Oh yeah?” Daisuke winked at Ken, who only rolled his eyes in response, “You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Takeru chimed in, “Some of us are trying to eat, you know. You trying to ruin cake for me forever?”

“Oh har har har,” Daisuke mocked back, “You’re just jealous.” Takeru and Daisuke. Still just Takeru and Daisuke. Even after all this time. The easy predictability of their relationship all but ignored by the rest of the group who began filtering their way back out of the bedroom and toward the apartment’s larger living area.

“Hey,” Daisuke tugged gently at Ken’s arm, holding him back even as the others left. “Sorry about that,” he offered, explaining, “About embarrassing you, I mean.”

“Don’t worry,” Ken brushed him off, stepping away before adding, “And I wasn’t embarrassed.”

“Ha!” Daisuke’s amusement almost gave Ken the desperate seconds he needed to escape. Almost. But somehow, the curly headed man still managed to snag Ken by his collar and pull him back around.

“Okay. First of all,” Daisuke began, unable to contain his smirk, “Yes. You were embarrassed. I am an expert in reading Ichijouji Ken and _that_ was clearly an embarrassment blush. And second of all—“

“Wait. Stop.” Ken demanded, “You’re a _what?_ ”

Daisuke ignored him, “And second of all,” he repeated, “you kind of deserved it for flirting Miyako right in front me and everyone else.”

Ken was dumbstruck. He was well and truly dumbstruck. And that was saying something. Because Ken was certain that he could count on one hand the number of times he had actually been shocked into silence throughout his entire lifetime. Though, that being said, he was also pretty sure that they could all be traced back to Daisuke in some way or another.

But still… somehow… here he was, _again_.

“Ehm,” Ken finally managed to clear his throat enough to get something out, “Excuse me,” Ken began softly enough before finishing somewhat more pointedly, “I what?” When Daisuke didn’t answer, he continued, “I wasn’t _flirting_. I don’t even know how to flirt. Why would I even—”

“Oh, see?” Daisuke was clearly not concerned in the least by Ken’s tone, “This,” Daisuke gestured in round and about Ken’s face, “This is an angry flush. And yes you were. No man talks to a woman about mattresses unless he wants her in his.”

“Daisuke…” Ken warned.

“See? Angry flushes start at your ears,” Daisuke explained, “First your ears turn like really, really red. Dark red. Crimson. And then it’s like the color starts creeping forward.”

“It’s very different,” Daisuke continued, “From your ‘I’m frightened’ look. See, with that one, you go all pale on top. You know, like your face, your ears, but then these little red blotches start popping up here,” Daisuke ran a finger lightly around the inside of Ken’s collar, “And here,” his finger brushed against the small hallow just between Ken’s collar bones, “And here.” Daisuke’s finger traced a snaking path down to the point it was blocked by Ken’s top shirt button. “And I’ve always wondered how much further down they go,” Daisuke admitted, hooking a finger over the ‘V” and giving it a little tug only to have Ken slap the offending hand away.

“They aren’t as red as your angry flush,” Daisuke smirked, “It’s, I don’t know, almost raspberry colored? Not too dark.”

Ken tried to walk away again but Daisuke grabbed his arm, pulling him in close, “But see, this?” Daisuke nodded at Ken, voice soft as he ran a single finger lightly down the side of Ken’s face before asking again, “You see? This is embarrassed Ken. Embarrassed Ken's blush is not red at all. It’s barely pink and almost powdery somehow and only on just the edges of your cheeks. Here,” Daisuke traced a light line across first one side of Ken’s face and then the other, “And here,” he smiled.

Then Daisuke leaned in, his lips as close to Ken’s ear as they could get without actually touching. So close that Ken could actually feel his breath tickle the hairs along his neck as he whispered, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Ken jerked back, thankful that at least some part of his brain seemed to be working even if his conscious brain seemed to be suffering some kind of full-on electrical storm.

“That’s not funny Daisuke.” Shit. Ken had thought, well, at least he had hoped, that his body would quit betraying him this way once he was finally done with puberty. Part of him thought that maybe it had. Leave it to Daisuke to make a mockery of what little self-respect Ken had managed to build in himself.

“Sorry,” Daisuke apologized again, “I mean… Really… Sorry… I feel like I’m saying that to you a lot today.” Daisuke offered Ken a contrite smile, “It’s not like I’m trying to be mean. Not really,” Daisuke shrugged, continuing, “It’s just, you make this face, and that really makes me want to pick on you, but then I do and then you make _that_ face and it’s like, suddenly, I feel really guilty for having done it.”

“Oh.” Ken intoned, unimpressed, “Poor you.” At least Ken’s sarcasm was working again. And that made Daisuke laugh.

“Yeah,” Daisuke agreed, hamming it up, “Poor me!” He nudged Ken with his shoulder, trying to coax a smile out of the dark-haired man, “And all I really wanted to do was ask you to do me a favor. Hmmmm?”

Oh god. The wheedling tone. Ken hated the wheedling tone. His defenses were shit against Daisuke’s wheedling tone. “Sure. Whatever,” Ken answered before he had really even thought about it.

“You mean it?” Daisuke asked, clapping his hands together in excitement, “You don’t even want to know what it is?”

“Wait,” Ken demanded, “Stop. No… No.” God-damn it brain, get it together, “I meant, sure, tell me what you want.”

And then, “I’ll probably say no,” Ken clarified a second later, hoping he sounded surer of himself than he was before offering again, “But feel free to go ahead and ask.”

“Okay… Hmm… Well…” Daisuke began carefully, “I don’t know if you know this, but my little noodle cart has been doing pretty well… I mean…” Daisuke was hesitating and Ken almost thought he might be embarrassed, “I mean, well enough, I guess.”

It was an understatement. Even if Ken had not been automatically tuned in to all things Daisuke, he would have known that. Daisuke’s little start up business might have seemed like something of a lark at first, but the red-headed man clearly had a knack for business. Never mind he was a damn good cook. Add in his natural warmth and a good dollop of luck in the form of a couple of favorable write-ups by better-known critics and what had started off as a small noodle stand was fast becoming something of a Tokyo hot spot.

“I mean, I had this idea,” Daisuke continued, “I wanted to maybe open up a second stand and I was thinking that a good place to get lots of business would be… maybe near a university?”

“Uh huh,” Ken answered vaguely, “Go on.”

“Well, you know T-University is the closest one to here. But even that would be an awful long commute…” Daisuke winced. He understood full well that by now Ken knew what he was asking and yet, Ken seemed equally determined to make him slog all the way through the actual asking part. Daisuke regretted not factoring in Ken’s despotic streak before teasing him earlier. “And I just got this apartment… And I really like it… And I don’t want to give it up just yet…”

“Hmm, that is a problem,” Ken offered, his voice completely devoid of any compassion.

“And, well, I was thinking that, you know, you work at T-University. And, you know, that you—“

“No.” Ken was proud of how firm his voice sounded.

“Oh come on, Ken! It wouldn’t be that bad!” Daisuke promised, “I’m not even talking every night. Three, maybe four days a week. At most!”

“Absolutely not.” Ken responded. Ken had lived with Daisuke only once before and it had very nearly killed him. He wasn’t about to just go and volunteer for that same misery again anytime soon.

“Please Ken?” Uh-oh, Daisuke was bringing out the big guns, “This is really important to me and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it otherwise.” Daisuke had Ken by the arm, squeezing even as he tried to stare deep into Ken’s eyes.

Ken sighed, damn the red-headed man and his tricks. “Daisuke…” he began, “You know me… you know… I need my space. It’s just… it wouldn’t work.”

But Daisuke was not swayed. “You would have my word. Only _two_ days per week. Max. And you wouldn’t even know I was there,” Daisuke assured him. “I’d sneak in, quiet as a mouse, late at night, sleep and then sneak back out the next morning.”

That wasn’t how it was going to be. Ken knew that that was never how it was going to be. Still…

“Daisuke,” Ken shook his head, thinking back to what had got him cornered in the first place, repeating “It wouldn’t work. I don’t—I don’t even have a bed for you to sleep on, remember? You’d be better off just coming back here. Really. I mean…”

“Well, if you’re that worried, I’ll have someone move my mattress over to your place. There’s plenty of room for both of us on it.” Daisuke offered with a cheeky grin.

“Daisuke.” Ken growled, annoyed. But that only made Daisuke grin bigger.

“See?” He asked, pronouncing, “Angry Ken,” before continuing, “I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding,” he promised, “I don’t know, I’ll buy a futon,” Daisuke suggested, but then, noticing Ken’s discomfort, “or, I don’t know, a sleeping bag. Something less… invasive? Something you can toss in a closet when I’m not there. Which will be most of the time,” Daisuke promised before asking, one more time, hands folded in prayer, “Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Okay, fine,” Ken finally relented, “You can stay. But only 2 days a week.”

And then Daisuke was on him. Hugging and jumping. And somehow jumping while hugging. And excited. Too excited.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ken pushed himself out of Daisuke’s grip as gently as he could manage, “You’re happy. I get that. But you’re going to need to calm… down...”

“Yeah, I know,” Daisuke smiled, “But it’s going to be cool. Just like when we were kids.”

“Yeah,” Ken agreed, “just like when we were kids,” before reminding Daisuke, “Two days per week. Remember. You said two days”

Daisuke nodded, “No, no, yeah. Two days. I mean, unless—“

Ken cut him off, “Two. Days.”

“Right,” Daisuke agreed with a smile, “Two days. Wouldn’t want to, you know, intrude. Don’t worry,” Daisuke pledged, “I promise I’ll stay out of your hair. You won’t even know when I’m there. After all, I know you Ken.” Daisuke smiled. “I think I know you better than you know you.”

Ken sighed. There was no way that this wasn’t going to end badly. What had he done? What had he been thinking? Of course this wouldn’t work. What little was left of Ken and Daisuke’s previous friendship was predicated on the fact that Ken avoided Daisuke whenever possible. This was practically asking for Ken to do something stupid that would destroy everything. And that might very well destroy him. Or, at the very least the best part of him. The only part of him that had ever really mattered. The only part he actually dreaded losing. Daisuke.

Ken had just about made up his mind to tell Daisuke it wouldn’t work after all, that he would have to think of something else. And he would have to. That is, if a loud voice had not come hollering down the hall.

“Hey!” Takeru called, “Have the two of you finished fucking yet?” Oh god. Ken was sure even the neighbors had heard that.

“Some of us would like to get out of here before midnight and it’s awful hard to make our excuses when the host is mrmrrhm—“ Ken sent a small prayer heavenward for whoever took it upon themselves to shut Takeru up.

“See?” Daisuke smiled a toothy grin, pointing to Ken’s cheeks, “You may not realize this but you’re actually really embarrassed right now, Ken,” Daisuke laughed. “I get you. I _understand_ you. This is going to work out perfectly,” he laughed, “Promise.”

 

 

Yep. There was no way in hell that Ken _wasn’t_ going to end up regretting this.

 


	2. Shark Tank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So... this Ken is a little different than any of my other Ken's. I'd like to think that the Ken I usually write is a pretty strong character. Maybe a little off-kilter (okay, definitely off-kilter) but strong and accepting of who his is. This Ken, on the other hand, never made it there. This Ken wants to be that Ken. He wants who he is to be enough but he doesn't really believe that to be true. Yet. But maybe, someday, Daisuke can help him get there. We shall see.
> 
> So anyway, just fair warning. This Ken is a little more angsty than I usually write him. Enjoy!

* * *

Ken fucking _hated_ that toothbrush.

He hated it.

He didn’t say anything because, really, what kind of person begrudges another person, a supposed friend no less, the 2 square inches of apartment space required to keep an extra toothbrush. Ken was determined not to be “that guy.”

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t really, really hate that _fucking_ toothbrush.

Ken reached for his own toothbrush, knocking Daisuke’s just far enough to leave it teetering on the edge of the sink, tilting precariously over the small rubbish bin beneath. This would be fate’s decision.

Ken frowned when the cup steadied without falling. Why did fate always seem to favor Daisuke? And what kind of grown man kept his toothbrush in a cup decorated with duckies and bunnies?

Apparently the kind who also insisted on using only strawberry scented shampoo and who wore Gundam themed PJs to bed.

Maybe one more nudge? Just a small one? Give fate a second chance?

It wasn’t like Daisuke didn’t deserve to have his toothbrush “accidentally” fall in the trash can or on the floor or even out the apartment’s third story window and into the dumpster below. Not after the stunt he had pulled earlier.

Ken told himself that it was only natural he was feeling this way. After all, it’s not like his tiny one bedroom apartment had been overflowing with space even before Daisuke has wheedled his way in to staying over a few nights a week.

Sure, it made sense to keep a few duplicate “necessities” over here rather than Daisuke having to tote them back and forth between apartments. And sure, Daisuke really did spend most of his time at his new food cart, as he had promised. And sure, if Ken was being honest, it was kind of nice how, now that Daisuke had a stand so close to the university, Ken’s favorite yakisoba always managed to show up at the little office he used to prep for his associate-professor duties, warm and ready to eat, right as he was getting hungry.

Still. None of that meant that Ken had to like Daisuke’s intrusion into his life.

Take this morning, for instance. It was damned hard to wake up on the right side of the bed when you didn’t even have a bed. For lack of other options, Ken had been sleeping on a couch that was a hand-me-down from a professor in his department who had received it as a hand-me-down, years earlier, from yet another professor, long since retired.

The thing was a monster. Or, perhaps, some sort of medieval torture device. Everything sagged in the strangest of places and there were springs, sharp, sharp springs, that seemed to move about under their own volition to assault Ken in his most delicate places when he least expected it.

He had tried sleeping with his head on the left. He had tried sleeping with his head on the right. He had tried sleeping with his head in the middle and his knees hanging hooked over the edge. (That had only resulted in his waking up with both legs numb and an utterly miserable 5 minutes spent dragging himself across the floor has they came back to life via an excruciating case of pins and needles).

He had actually found somewhat respectable sleep lying on the floor next to the couch but Ken would be damned if he let Daisuke catch him doing that. Again, anyway. The red-headed man had laughed entirely too hard.

So that was how Ken had started his day, being sucked from behind into the god-forsaken depths of a couch older than he was, as supernaturally tensile springs tried to dig their way into both his ribs and his hip.

 And. As if all that were not enough, when Ken had finally managed to fight himself free from the damnable beast’s grasp, he only managed a half step before tripping and landing, without aplomb, across Daisuke’s sleeping bag.

Fortunately for Daisuke, he was not inside.

Unfortunately of Ken, Daisuke was standing just inside the door to the kitchen, watching the whole thing as he sipped a steaming cup of coffee.

“He is beauty, he is grace,” Daisuke teased, unable to contain his chuckle even as he took another small sip.

“He will punch you in your face,” Ken muttered to the large mecha he was now nose to toes with. Why did they even make adult-sized Gundam-themed sleeping bags?

And why did Daisuke have to put his sleeping bag right here, of all places? This was a one-bedroom apartment. That is to say, it actually had a bedroom. Granted, Ken would be hard-pressed to fit a real bed in there, what with all his books and the like stacked about, but there was more than enough room for a sleeping bag. Why didn’t the red-headed man set up camp in there? Why did he have to sleep right next to Ken’s couch? Always, right under Ken’s feet?

Ken sighed, rolling over. God, the floor was so much more comfortable than that damned couch. Maybe he would go get his own sleeping bag that afternoon and move into the bedroom. There had to be a sporting goods store within walking distance.

“And to think, this is all it takes to get you in my bed.” Daisuke must have set his coffee cup on the kitchen counter before coming over. He reached out a hand to pull Ken up but Ken ignored it, sitting up on his own, unable to contain his wince when he felt his back knot up. God-damned couch.

“Hey, woah,” Daisuke was on his knees next to Ken in seconds, “Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his hands squeezing up Ken’s arms and across his shoulders as if that would somehow tell Daisuke what hurt.

“I’m fine,” Ken promised, brushing at Daisuke’s hands, “I’m not so feeble I’d hurt myself just tripping.”

“Then what is it?” Daisuke leaned back on his heels, giving Ken the once-over just for good measure. Ken considered his options. One. He could lie and say nothing. Daisuke would press, he could stone wall, Daisuke would continue to press and Ken  would eventually give in and tell him the truth. Or two, Ken could just tell Daisuke the truth.

“Nothing.” Ken rolled his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Daisuke insisted before starting that strange squeezing thing again, “Tell me what hurts.”

“Nothing hurts,” Ken tried pushing him away again but Daisuke wasn’t as easily thwarted the second time, “Let me up.” Daisuke was squeezing down his legs now. What could he possibly be hoping to find?

“What about this?” Daisuke asked, reaching up and giving Ken’s shoulders a gentle twist. Ken could not help flinching as the muscles in his back tightened further.

“It wasn’t the fall,” Ken insisted when Daisuke gave him his most disapproving glare, “It’s always like that. It’s because of that damned couch.” At least now, Daisuke was scowling at the couch.

“Here, lie down,” Daisuke demanded, pulling his pillow around so that Ken could lie face down in front of him.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Daisuke complained when Ken gave him a skeptical look.

Whatever. It would probably be quicker just to let Daisuke do whatever miracle cure he seemed to think he could do and then Ken could declare himself fixed and they could both move on with their day.

Never mind the danger to his sanity.

Ken didn’t know what was more distracting. Having his face pressed into Daisuke’s pillow, being inundated with the scent that was clean Daisuke: strawberry shampoo, soap and just a hint of the ever-present peanut oil and flame? Or the fact that Daisuke was now straddling Ken’s body, his weight heavy against Ken’s thighs even as fingers pressed and kneaded along his back. Oh wait. Ken already knew that answer.

_God-damned._ What kind of Japanese man put his hands under another man’s tee-shirt like that? And when the fuck did Daisuke learn how to do this?

“Tell me when I hit the right spot,” Daisuke asked, his weight shifting as his hands made their way down Ken’s back. Ken was unable to contain his groan as Daisuke’s hands began working over his lower back.

“Never mind.” Ken tried to pretend he didn’t hear the laughter in Daisuke’s voice, “Found it.” Ken really wanted to tell Daisuke to shut up but he didn’t trust his own mouth right then.

Ken had not realized how tight his back had been until the muscles finally began to give way under Daisuke’s ministrations. It was almost as if Ken was getting first easy breaths he could remember having in months. He felt his entire body relax and sighed in relief.

Daisuke huffed, and for moment Ken tensed, worried he had somehow upset the younger man. Ken hated that feeling. And so he forced himself to let go of it. It reminded him too much of when they had been kids and when he had been so afraid of inadvertently doing something that would cost him the only friends he had. He had spent the first several of years around the other digi-destined walking on egg shells, afraid they would wake up one morning and decide that Ken wasn’t holding up his end of the friendship-bargain. After all, there was a lot of red-ink in Ken’s life ledger. And no one knew that better than the other digi-destined. No one had reason to hate him for it more than the other digi-destined.

So Ken had found himself continually chasing the idea of what a perfect friend was supposed to be, always putting their needs first, always trying to that open ear, the helping hand. Never bothering them with his own worries or fears. He wanted to be a mirror that only reflected the best of what the other digi-destined sent his way. In a hundred years, he probably wouldn’t be able to make up for the damage he had managed to do before he was twelve. But he wanted to try. And maybe, if he did it well enough there would be someone left at the end who he could actually call friend.

It was exhausting.

And after a while, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t _want_ to do it anymore. He wanted to be Ken and he was pretty sure that Ken wasn’t who the other digi-destined wanted him to be.

So Ken pulled back. You can’t disappoint anyone if there isn’t anyone in your life to disappoint. Or, at least, that was Ken’s theory.  And it had been working pretty well too, until Daisuke decided he needed to futz it all—“Ow!”

Daisuke had slapped Ken’s ass, hard, knocking Ken out of his ruminations, “That hurt! What’d you do that for?” Ken complained.

“Because you deserved it,” Daisuke answered matter-of-factly, his raised hand threatening a second smack.

Ken wasn’t having any of that. He quickly squirmed his way out from under Daisuke, declaring, “The hell I did,” before reminding Daisuke, “I’m not the one who left his sleeping bag in the middle of the floor.”

“Yeah?” Daisuke smarted back, clearly not impressed by Ken’s argument, “What happened to it being that ‘couch’s fault’?” Daisuke asked, using his fingers to quote Ken. “Or did you finally admit to yourself that it’s actually your fault for sleeping on the damn thing in the first place when you know good and well that you should be taking better care of yourself?”

Stupid Daisuke and his stupid logic. Who asked him anyway?

“Oh, what do you care?” Ken muttered, using the side of the couch to lever himself up from the floor, ignoring the hurt look that flashed across Daisuke’s face. Served him right for thinking he could just haul off and smack Ken like Ken was some wayward child. And his backside still stung. The red-headed man had not held back at all. He deserved whatever barbs Ken threw his way.

“Of course, I care,” Daisuke sighed, “I—” he began before breaking off with a shake of his head.

“You’ve always been such a grouch in the morning, I swear,” Daisuke chided. “No wonder all the gossip around the noodle cart about Ichijouji- _sensei_ involves him _castrating_ any student crazy enough to approach him before noon.” Daisuke was up and moving towards the kitchen again, “Coffee?” he asked like the previous 15 minutes had not even happened.

Ken paused. It was true that his afternoon classes always filled up much quicker than his early morning ones. And it was exceedingly rare to have a student drop by during his AM office hours. Still…

“That’s not true,” Ken insisted, hoping more than believing that Daisuke was pulling his chain. Daisuke just smiled in response.

“It would have come on my course evaluations before now,” Ken reasoned.

“I think you underestimate just how terrifying you can be, Ichijouji- _sensei_ ,” Daisuke teased. He held a fresh mug of coffee in Ken’s direction but Ken only waved him away, his thoughts elsewhere. Daisuke seemed to sense how much this revelation was bothering Ken and approached, still carrying the steaming mug

“Look,” Daisuke promised, sneaking a quick sip before holding the cup out to Ken, “Don’t worry about it. From what I can see, the students view surviving you as something of a badge of honor.” He caught Ken’s eyes and winked before taunting Ken with a grin, “Can’t say I disagree.”

Murder. Ken’s first thought was of murder.  But then he forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Leave it to Daisuke to simultaneously make Ken want to strangle him and laugh with him and, yeah, maybe even kiss him—if it meant he would get the opportunity to knee him mercilessly in the groin.

Thankfully, the deep breath worked and Ken did none of those things. Instead, he pretended to ignore the red-headed man as he made his way towards the apartment’s small washroom, muttering only a half-hearted, “I hate you,” as he walked past Daisuke.

“No, you don’t,” Daisuke called over his shoulder as Ken continued to walk away.

“Yeah well,” Ken answered, maybe a bit too honestly, “I wish I did.” He slammed the washroom door shut before Daisuke could respond.

Unfortunately, the thin, hollow-core door wasn’t enough to block out Daisuke’s quiet response. “…That,” Ken heard his oldest friend reply as he walked away, “I actually believe.”

God damn it, Ken sighed. Of course. Leave it to him to make even the happiest-go-luckiest person in the world miserable.

As if any of this was his fault.

As if any of it wasn’t.

This was his apartment, his space and he had done everything he could to protect all the digi-destined, but especially Daisuke, from himself. And yet. Here he was anyway. Practically asking Ken to hurt him.

Ken stared at Daisuke’s toothbrush in its little ducky and bunny decorated cup and seethed.

What man, in his right mind, would force his way into a shark tank and then try and make the shark feel bad about taking a bite out of him? It was ridiculous!

Maybe one more nudge, Ken thought, just a small one? Give fate a second chance? Maybe she had changed her mind? Fate was said to be a fickle creature. Let’s see what would happen the second time Ken offered fate a choice, see if maybe she found herself as indecisive in the face of Motomiya Daisuke as Ken found himself to be.

Ken reached out a hand, his fingers ready to give just the smallest flick. It wouldn’t take much—only a small nudge, easily mistaken for an accident.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do actually do it. Ken sighed.

Better to just brush his teeth and ignore the things it was too late to change anyhow because “accidentally” knocking Daisuke’s toothbrush in the trash wouldn’t change anything.

Even Ken knew that much.

So, in the end, Ken finished brushing his teeth, rinsed out his toothbrush and hung it back in the little holder he kept suction-cupped to his mirror. Then he quickly pushed Daisuke’s cup back to where it had been, safely ensconced on the side of the sink, away from the edge, before reaching for a comb and beginning the arduous task of straightening out his sleep-worn hair.

 

All the while, trying his best not to look the rumpled, dark-haired man in the mirror in the eye.


End file.
